


For Know My Crime Was Cruel, And All My Pain Deserved

by Imaginary_Bomb



Series: Yuo & Dorian [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Body Horror, Canonical Character Death, Deviates From Canon, Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - In Hushed Whispers, Emotional Hurt, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, POV Dorian Pavus, Pre-Slash, Protective Dorian Pavus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-01-27 16:35:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21395287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imaginary_Bomb/pseuds/Imaginary_Bomb
Summary: Fearing that his mentor has become involved in something terrible, Dorian goes south in hopes of stopping him. But Alexius's fate is worse than he imagined, and Dorian must join forces with the Inquisition's Herald to save him.The Herald is nothing like Dorian expected, but they'll have to work together to make it back from Alexius's doomed future. Dorian knows he's doing the right thing and knows better than to expect anyone to thank him.But it won't be so easy to prove his intentions to the mistrusting, intimidating Herald of Andraste.- - -moodboard.Occurs before the start of The Time Has Come; can stand alone.edits 11.2.20
Relationships: Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Lavellan/Dorian Pavus, Non binary Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Non binary Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Series: Yuo & Dorian [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1065233
Comments: 13
Kudos: 33





	1. naught but blood and torn flesh

**Author's Note:**

> so, you may have seen this update and are now asking, "scottie, what the fuck?" the answer is that i am as blindsided as you. i don't know how i operated under the illusion that this would be a simple, low-effort story for so long, but it's probably worth... something.
> 
> it occurred to me, as i was planning this story, that this series is going to be one of those obnoxiously long, convoluted stories. i'd apologize but i assure you, it's just as much a pain in the ass for me.
> 
> in any case, apologies for taking so long with this update. hopefully the length makes up for it. enjoy!
> 
> _ _ _  
as always, infinite thanks to my beta [A_Lesbian_With_Pink_Hair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Lesbian_With_Pink_Hair/pseuds/A_Lesbian_With_Pink_Hair) for all her help and patience!
> 
> title from the codex "She of the Highwaymen Repents"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from the codex Epitaphs for the Lost
> 
> you can see yuo at my tumblr [here](https://merrybandofmurderers.tumblr.com/post/638956521811755008/some-more-pics-of-yuo-i-forgot-to-post-hethey).

Dorian did not know what he expected of the man being hailed as the Herald of Andraste, but a towering elven mage in intimidating armor was not it. He was flanked by a massive Qunari, a bearded human warrior, and a scrappy-looking elf. All regarded Dorian with suspicion.

Dorian did have the pleasure of witnessing the Herald close a rift. It was unlike anything he had seen. It made sense the common folk assumed him to be divinely touched.

“Who are you?” the Herald demanded.

“Ah, getting ahead of myself again, I see. Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous.” He offered a bow. “How do you do?”

“Watch yourself,” the Qunari growled. “The pretty ones are always the worst.”

Dorian’s smile tightened. “Suspicious friends you have here.” The last thing he needed was this falling apart because of foreign prejudice. “Magister Alexius was once my mentor,” he informed them, “so my assistance should be valuable—as I’m sure you can imagine.”

The Herald stepped forward, glaring. “Stop talking like you’re waiting for applause and tell me what’s going on.”

Dorian held his ground, chin raised. He did not come this far to be intimidated, Andraste’s herald or no. “Look, you must know there’s danger. That should be obvious, even without the note. Let’s start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you. As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself.”

The Herald scoffed, and the archer cut in, “You don’t believe this do you? It’s daft!”

Dorian tried to hold on to his patience. “The rift you closed here? You saw how it twisted time around itself. Soon there will be more like it, and they’ll appear further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable—and it’s unraveling the world.”

The Herald folded his arms. “And why should I believe any of this?”

“I know what I’m talking about,” Dorian snapped. “I helped develop this magic. When I was still his apprentice, it was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work.” He shook his head. “What I don’t understand is why he’s doing it. Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?”

“He didn’t do it for them,” Felix said, appearing from the shadows.

As Dorian greeted him, he saw the Qunari reach for his maul. Dorian tensed, but before he could act, the Herald waved his companion down.

“My father’s joined a cult,” Felix was saying. “Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves ‘Venatori.’ And whatever he’s done for them, he’s done it to get to you.”

The Herald’s human companion spoke up. “What interest does this Magister have in the Herald?”

“I couldn’t tell you, but they’re obsessed with him.” He turned to the Herald. “Perhaps because you survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes?”

“You _can_ close the rifts,” Dorian mused. “Maybe there’s a connection? Or they see you as a threat?”

The Herald sneered. “I’m not afraid of Alexius.” He turned to Felix, head tilted as he scrutinized him. “Why work against your own father?”

“For the same reason Dorian works against him.” Felix sighed. “I love my father and my country. But this? Cults? Time magic? What he’s doing now is madness. For his own sake, you have to stop him.”

“It would also be nice if he didn’t rip a hole in time,” Dorian quipped, glossing over his own grief. “There’s already a hole in the sky.”

The Herald frowned, then looked to his companions.

The elf blew a raspberry, and the human said, “If it is true, it’s worth looking into.”

The Qunari ran a hand over his mouth. “I don’t like it, but it’s up to you, Boss.”

The Herald nodded and turned back to Dorian and Felix. “You have a plan?”

“You know you’re his target,” Dorian said. “Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage.”

“I believe my father intends to reach out to you again,” Felix said. “I will gather more intel and pass it on to Dorian.”

Dorian nodded. “I can’t stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn’t know I’m here, and I want to keep it that way. But whenever you’re ready to deal with him, I want to be there. I’ll be in touch.” He turned to leave and called over his shoulder, “And Felix? Try not to get yourself killed.”

Felix gave a wry smirk. “There are worse things than dying, Dorian.”

Just as Dorian was leaving the Chantry, a gruff voice said, “Gotta say, I wasn’t expecting to find so many Vints here.”

A laugh, deep and wild. “_They_ probably weren’t expecting any Qunari.”

*

Dorian had grieved with the Alexius family when news of Livia’s death and Felix’s sickness reached them. He readily left the Circle to attend Alexius in finding a cure.

Though Felix appreciated their efforts to prolong his life, he made peace with his inevitable death; while he lived, he did not wish to be treated differently. Dorian’s heart ached at the thought of losing his friend, but he had to respect Felix’s wish.

Alexius, meanwhile, grew ever more obsessed with his research. His guilt consumed him, and in his desperation, he turned to time magic, alarming his pupil and son. Alexius had always been sensible about magic, yet he would not listen to reason, no matter how Dorian and Felix appealed to him.

Even so, Dorian remained. His loyalty could not allow him to abandon Alexius. He had to stay for Felix, if nothing else. He joined Alexius in his research, with the hope to draw his mentor back to his senses.

It was for naught. Alexius was devoured by his obsession, and Dorian’s frustrations grew. The year of the Kirkwall Chantry explosion, tensions reached a breaking point between them, as well.

For weeks after leaving Alexius’s home, Felix sent him letters, asking after Dorian’s well-being and keeping him apprised of Alexius’s condition. When the letters stopped coming, Dorian returned to the Alexius estate only to find it deserted. All that remained was a cryptic note from Felix:

_Dorian,_

_ I cannot reveal too much, but I fear Father has become involved in something dangerous. I am going with him to do what I can. Hopefully, I will be able to see you again. Take care of yourself._

_Felix_

Dorian tried in vain to search for them but found nothing. He could not bear to think of what may have happened to them and returned to his old habits that Alexius had so carefully pulled him away from, and his life fractured around him.

Following his father’s betrayal, Dorian fled. With little to his name, he relied on favors from distant relatives and lower-class acquaintances as he drifted across the Imperium, his only goal to remain unfound.

But Alexius had always known how to find him, and indeed he did, showing up unexpectedly at the hostel Dorian was staying at. However, it was not the Alexius Dorian knew. Dark shadows hung under his eyes, which shined with a fanatical gleam; his face was creased with wrinkles, his hair faded to gray. The sight sunk Dorian’s hopes of possible reconciliation.

Instead, horror grew as Dorian heard what Alexius had to say. All the conversations they’d had, the ideals they’d shared—it was as if Alexius had lost everything of himself before the attack. Dorian despaired, and in his despair, fury ignited. How could Alexius, the best man he had ever known, let himself fall so far?

Alexius did not take his rebuff kindly. Dorian had never heard him raise his voice so.

He sent a frantic letter to his old Circle to discover that Alexius had approached the First Enchanter and been rejected there, as well. Something had happened in those months Felix and Alexius had been away. Something had been done to Alexius—or Felix. Dorian had to find out what.

As he packed his meager belongings for the trip south, he thought of Rilienus. He had not heard from him at all since the scandal broke, though Dorian knew Rilienus’s father had taken him across the Nocen Sea to sequester in the countryside.

These past months, he had tried to keep Rilienus out of his thoughts. He could not help but recall their last memory together. Tangled in silk sheets, wrapped in each other’s arms, Rilienus’s golden skin and wine-sweetened breath against his lips. Oblivious to the world around them—until it cruelly broke them apart.

For one wild moment, Dorian considered going to Rilienus and asking for him to come south, to help him. It was such a fanciful idea, to run away from it all with the man he—

But no. Dorian had learned his lesson. Dorian had nothing, but given enough time, Rilienus could yet recover from the scandal. He had a good education, a respectable reputation, a kind father. Dorian would not ruin his life any further.

So, Dorian went south, alone, just in time for the Conclave to explode.

*

Dorian ruminated over this as he made the trek to Haven. Felix had procured for him a layout of Redcliffe Castle, as well as Alexius’s magical safeguards. More Tevinters, of the Venatori, were arriving under cover of night at the castle’s docks. Tensions were heightening in the village, and rumors spread of the crown’s involvement. It was time to get in touch.

He stopped by an Inquisition camp to send word ahead of his coming. Hopefully, the Herald would have preparations begun by the time Dorian arrived.

Haven itself was a small, sturdy village tucked into the mountains. Nothing remarkable about it, save for the Breach looming overhead. The population was an odd mix of townspeople, pilgrims, Inquisition soldiers, mercenaries, Templars, Circle mages, and Chantry sisters. It seemed impossible the place could fit them all.

A buzzing energy thrummed through the populace, faces split between grim determination and rapture. Every so often, heads turned to the sky, as if waiting to see what more the Breach would do.

As Dorian stepped through the gates, a severe-looking elven woman waylaid him. “Need help, stranger?” Her suspicious eyes lingered on his staff and robes.

He straightened. “I am here to see the Herald. Dorian Pavus. I sent word ahead.”

She nodded sharply. “The Herald is with the advisors. This way.”

She led him through the village to the Chantry, a modest building of wood and stone. As the agent pushed open the heavy doors, Dorian heard raised voices coming from behind another door at the opposite end of the chapel.

“—manpower to take the castle! Either we find another way in or give up this nonsense and go get the Templars.”

The Herald’s voice growled, “We’re not going to the fucking Templars, Cullen.”

“Even if we could assault the keep, it would be for naught,” a delicate, accented voice said. “An ‘Orlesian’ Inquisition’s army marching into Ferelden would provoke a war. Our hands are tied.”

A third voice joined in. “The magister—”

“—_has_ outplayed us,” the first voice interjected.

Dorian smirked and pushed open the door ahead of the agent. “Not quite,” he said, flicking his robes with a dramatic flair.

The residents of the room spun to face him. A warrior beside the Herald reached for her sword, before he irritably waved her down. _Jumpy friends_, Dorian thought.

The agent bowed. “Dorian Pavus has arrived.”

“Thank you, Charter,” the Herald said with a wry grin. As she retreated from the room, the Herald turned to Dorian. “You came.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” Dorian asked, raising a brow.

The Herald’s expression was inscrutable—not exactly blank, but Dorian could not parse it. His eyes trailed slowly over Dorian, as if in consideration. Whatever he found must have satisfied; he turned to his companions to make introductions. “This is Leliana and Cassandra, Hands of the Divine, Commander Cullen, and our ambassador, Josephine Montilyet.”

“A pleasure,” Dorian said.

“We are grateful for any help you can provide,” said the ambassador.

“Naturally. That’s why I’m here.” He brandished the notes Felix had provided him. “My friend on the inside has granted me a wealth of information.”

Leliana took the papers and spread them on the table to peruse.

Cullen said, “There’s still the issue of finding a way in.”

“There is,” Leliana said, pointing to the diagram of the castle’s layout. “A secret passage, through the windmill; an escape route for the family. It’s too narrow for our troops, but we could send agents through.”

The Herald nodded. “We can send Dorian with them, to deal with any magical safeguards.”

“I’d be delighted,” Dorian said. “My only concern is the number of Venatori. Alexius has been stealthily expanding their numbers. I worry we’d be found long before we reached the throne room.”

Leliana smirked. “That’s why we need a distraction. Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly.”

Cassandra rested a hand on her sword. “While they’re focused on the Herald, we break the magister’s defenses. A huge risk, but it could work.”

The Herald snorted. “My life has been one huge risk even before I fell out of the Fade. I’m not afraid of risk.”

“This plan puts you in the most danger,” Cullen reminded him. “We can’t in good conscience order you—”

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t require your orders to act,” the Herald snapped. “Josephine, contact Alexius. Let him know we accept his invitation.”

“Of course, Herald.”

“Leliana, get your agents ready. Dorian will convene with you.” The Herald’s sharp gaze moved over the room, chin raised. The advisors straightened under his commanding attention. “We have a plan. Let’s make it happen.”

*

Leliana was scarily efficient in organizing her agents with the information Dorian provided. They made their way quickly to Redcliffe, hopefully before Alexius could put too many safeguards in place. They travelled in multiple discreet groups to move as undetected as possible.

Dorian entered with Leliana’s agents through the escape passage, while the Herald walked through the front gate with his companions. He had brought the elven archer and bearded warrior, but wisely left the Qunari behind. They needed a distraction, not to incite another war.

The tunnels were dank, of course, but were at least largely unprotected. Dorian easily disabled any wards they came across. Their goal was to make their way to the main hall, taking out any Venatori they encountered. Maker willing, a direct confrontation could sway Alexius into listening to reason.

As they slipped into the hall, keeping to the shadows, Dorian heard his former mentor’s voice.

“—cleverness, I’m afraid. You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark—a gift you don’t even understand—and think you’re in control. You are nothing but a mistake,” he hissed.

“If you know so much, enlighten me,” the Herald challenged, voice confident and sure. “Tell me what this mark on my hand is for.”

“It belongs to your betters.” Dorian’s fingers tightened around his staff at the icy derision in Alexius’s voice. “You wouldn’t even begin to understand its purpose.”

“Father, listen to yourself!” Felix cried. “Do you know what you sound like?”

Dorian stepped out from behind the pillar. “He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliché everyone expects us to be.”

“Dorian.” Alexius’s eyes fell on him, devoid of any affection; Dorian’s gut clenched. “I gave you a chance to be part of this. You turned me down. The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes.”

The Herald scoffed, tossing his hand in dismissal. “Blah, blah, my cult is better than yours. I’ve heard it a thousand times.” His archer snickered.

Dorian glanced at him. “And how many cults have you encountered, exactly?”

The Herald smirked. He appeared relaxed, but his feet were solid, his left arm held close to his side, ready to reach for his staff in a moment. Dorian likened him to a coiled snake. “You’d be surprised,” he drawled.

Alexius continued as though he had not been interrupted. “He will make the world bow to mages once more. We will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas.”

“You can’t involve my people in this!” Fiona cried.

“Alexius,” Dorian begged. “This is exactly what you and I talked about never wanting to happen. Why would you support this?” _What happened to you?_

“Please, Father, stop this,” Felix said, putting a hand on Alexius’s arm. “Give up the Venatori. Let the southern mages fight the Breach, and let’s go home.”

“No, Felix.” Alexius turned to him, vulnerability crumbling his expression. “It is the only way. He can save you.”

Felix blinked, his expression folding into suspicion. “_Save_ me?”

“There is a way.” Dorian’s heart ached at the pain in his voice. “The Elder One promised. If I undo the mistake at the temple…”

Felix’s voice softened. “I’m going to die. You need to accept that.”

But Alexius turned away from him, face hardening. “Seize them, Venatori! The Elder One demands this man’s life.”

Out of the shadows, the Venatori fell dead as Inquisition agents appeared in their place.

The Herald smirked. “Clever enough for you, Alexius?”

Alexius snarled, “You… are a _mistake_.” He raised his hand, a glowing amulet in his grasp; Dorian realized with horror that he recognized it. “You should never have existed.”

“No!” Dorian threw out a spell he could only hope would counter it.

A rift tore open the air. The swirls of crackling magic engulfed him and the Herald, and the next thing Dorian knew, they were plummeting.

*

They splashed down into knee-high water, followed by shocked exclamations in Tevene. Ozone sharpened the air as the Herald unleashed lightning on the attacking guards. With a ferocious war cry, the Herald slammed his staff into a guard’s head; it snapped to the side with a sound like a whip crack.

Dorian engulfed the second guard, still staggering in shock, with a fireball, wrinkling his nose against the scent of burnt flesh. The guard’s body dropped into the water, snuffed like a candle.

Dorian looked around, catching his breath. “Well, that was—ungh!” A gauntleted hand curled around his collar, shoving into his sternum, and Dorian’s back slammed into the stone wall.

The Herald’s snarling face pressed close to his, eyes sharp and bright. “Explain yourself, Tevinter.”

Dorian grunted, grabbing the Herald’s vambrace in a futile attempt to shake him off. “Explain how I saved your life?” he spat. “_Gladly_.”

Some of the aggression bled from the Herald’s expression, and after a long moment, he released Dorian and stepped back, putting several paces between them.

Dorian huffed, straightening his robes. “Displacement. Although likely not what Alexius intended. The rift must have moved us to—what? The closest confluence of arcane energy?”

“The last thing I remember,” the Herald said evenly, “we were in the castle hall.”

Dorian began pacing the room, taking in their surroundings. “Then if we’re still in the castle, it isn’t… Oh! Of course!” He snapped his fingers. “It’s not simply where—it’s when!” He turned excitedly to the Herald, who stood stiff with wariness. “Alexius used the amulet as a focus. It moved us through time.”

The color drained from the Herald’s face. “What about the others in the hall with us? Were they brought through, too?”

Dorian considered this. It was unlikely Alexius would risk himself or Felix, and he explained as much. “They’re probably still where, and when, we left them. In some sense, anyway.”

“Comforting,” the Herald grumbled. He ran a hand over his braid and began pacing. “You said this wasn’t Alexius’s intention. What was?”

Dorian tapped his chin in thought. “Likely, to remove you from time completely. If you never existed, you wouldn’t have been at the Temple of Sacred Ashes or mangled this Elder One’s plan. Your surprise in the castle hall must have provoked him, made him reckless.”

“So, he tossed us into the rift before he was ready, you countered it, magic went wild, and now we’re here.” He sighed, hand resting on his hip. “Great.”

Dorian blinked, impressed. “You’re quick on your feet, I’ll give you that.”

His lips quirked, and he looked at Dorian askance. “You’ll understand if I withhold my thanks for saving my life until I actually live through this.” He grimaced with a shake of his head, then turned back, expression somber. “We have to undo this and go back.”

Dorian nodded. “I’m not certain it will be a matter of snapping our fingers, but yes, I quite agree. Let’s look around, see if we can find where the rift took us.”

The Herald scanned the room, then marched to the door. He froze the lock, muttered, “This is so fucking insane,” and bashed it with his fist. The door swung open with a metallic whine.

Dorian placed a hand on the Herald’s shoulder, only to remove it a second later when the Herald glared down at it. Dorian did not let it deter him. “We’re going to get through this.” He could not help the weight of responsibility that settled on his shoulders. This was magic _he _had helped develop, and it was ripping apart the world. “I’ll do whatever I must to protect you. I promise.”

The Herald’s eyes met his as he viewed Dorian with that strange, not-quite-blank expression. Then he turned and stepped over the threshold. “This Elder One? You know of it?”

“Leader of the Venatori, I suspect,” Dorian remarked, falling into step beside him. “Some magister aspiring to godhood.”

The Herald hummed. “An average day in the Imperium, then.”

“Oh, you know, it’s the same old tune. ‘Let’s play with magic we don’t understand. It will make us incredibly powerful!’ Evidently, it doesn’t _matter_ if you rip apart the fabric of time in the process.”

“You sound shocked, Dorian,” the Herald murmured. “Almost as if you are… offended.” Something in his voice sent an itch crawling down Dorian’s spine. His eyes pierced like chips of glass. “Do tell me, when in history humans have ever hesitated to use terrible means to seize power?”

There was nothing Dorian could say to that.

The Herald’s head turned away sharply, long ears pricked. In the next moment, he dashed down the hall. In a cell, they found a young elf in tattered robes swaying back and forth.

“Lysas,” the Herald gasped. He approached slowly. “Lysas, it’s me. Do you remember?”

Lysas did not respond. He sung absently to himself, a red gleam in his eyes. The Herald knelt before him. Lysas gave no sign he registered either of them.

Dorian eyed the crystalline protrusions lining the cell. As they navigated through the dungeons, Dorian had noticed more and more of them, growing from the walls in place of the tacky decorations of wolves and dogs. “What _is_ this?” he asked. It made his skin crawl, nausea swirl in his stomach. There were twisted, sinister whispers in his ears.

“Red lyrium,” the Herald said, not taking his eyes from Lysas. “Don’t touch it if you value your sanity.”

Dorian looked down at the muttering elf. “I didn’t know it came in red.”

The Herald did not respond. He said something to Lysas in a gentle, lyrical language, before standing and pulling himself away. “If Lysas is here, there may be others.”

“Likely here in the dungeons,” Dorian said. “I have the layout memorized.”

“Then let’s go.”

They made their way through crooked halls and twisted staircases lined with more red lyrium. The floors were cracked, corpses and refuse strewn about; the unpleasant odor of decay suffused the air. It did not feel like the halls matched the diagrams, but Dorian tried not to let his wavering confidence show.

Finally, after fighting through a handful of Venatori, they found Fiona. Or something that resembled Fiona.

“You’re… alive?” the creature rasped. “I saw you… disappear… into the rift.”

The Herald approached, horror etched on his face. “Is that red lyrium _growing out_ of you? _How_?”

Red lyrium had consumed the lower half of her body and one of her arms, adhering it to the wall. Her other arm dangled by her side, her hand transformed into a crystalline claw. Red lyrium grew from her spine and stretched through the skin on the left side of her face. Her remaining flesh was gray and emaciated, covered with spidering black veins.

Dorian’s stomach lurched, and he had to turn away.

“The longer you’re near it… eventually… you become this,” she explained. “Then they mine your corpse… for more.”

Gently, the Herald asked, “Can you tell us the date? Do you know?”

“I believe… Harvestmere… 9:42 Dragon.”

Dorian took a deep breath and turned to the Herald. “If it’s nine forty-two, then we’ve missed an entire year.”

“That magister is going to regret he didn’t just kill me,” the Herald growled.

Fiona’s neck strained as she struggled to meet his eye. “Alexius… serves the Elder One. More powerful than… the Maker.”

The Herald raised his chin. “The Maker is no god to me, and I will bring this monster down from its pedestal if I have to slaughter my way through all of Thedas.”

“Our only hope is to find the amulet Alexius used to send us here,” Dorian said. “If it still exists, I may be able to use it to reopen the rift to roughly the place we left.”

The Herald turned his cold, unforgiving gaze on him. “We do not have the option of failure.”

“Your spymaster, Leliana… she is here,” Fiona said. “Find her. Before the Elder One… learns you’re here.”

Dorian nodded decisively and turned to leave, but the Herald remained. He reached out to the cell door and broke it open. Fiona watched him with pain in her eyes.

“I can’t leave you like this,” the Herald said. “Tell me what I can do for you?”

Her mouth tightened. “You can… stop this.”

He stepped forward and cupped her cheeks with his hands. “I will,” he whispered. Her eyes closed, a single black tear slipping free. A moment later, black fluid leaked from her slackened mouth and her chest fell still.

The Herald murmured something that Dorian did not catch and stepped away from her body. Dorian did not remark on the anguished look on his face, simply led the way from the room.

*

They did find the Herald’s companions. In some sense.

“Andraste have mercy!” the warrior cried, backing away from his cell door. “You shouldn’t be here. The dead should rest in peace.”

The Herald rushed to him. “Blackwall? What’s wrong? Have you—been infected?”

His eyes glowed red, black veins spidering his ashen skin. “Am I dreaming? A dead man asking a dead man of his well-being?”

“Alexius’s spell didn’t kill us,” Dorian said. “It sent us forward in time. That’s how we survived.”

“Forward in time? Maybe I’ve just gone mad. If what you say is true… then this… everything I’ve been through—everything about this nightmare—is a mistake?”

“I should have been here,” the Herald said. “But I swear to you, we will set things right.”

Blackwall shook his head. “Now I know I’ve gone mad. To set all this right…” He told them of what had passed—the murder of Empress Celene, a demon army, the Inquisition’s decimation. “There is nothing left out there.”

The Herald reached forward and broke the lock on the cell. As the door opened, he held out his hand. “Then we make Alexius pay for what he’s done.”

Blackwall’s face hardened with determination; he clasped the Herald’s hand with his own. “Fine by me.”

In the archer’s cell, they found her cowering next to a mound of red lyrium. “No, no, no! You can’t be here! You’re dead, and they don’t come back!”

The Herald approached slowly. “I’m not dead, Sera,” he said gently. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, I swear to you.”

She sneered at him. “Like I’m going to believe some demon or whatever.”

“No one’s dead,” Dorian cut in. “Alexius used time magic to—”

“Talk sense or shut it! I can’t think about him.”

“I’m getting you out of here,” the Herald said, breaking open her cell, “and we’re going to end this. Does that help?”

“A bit. Sort of. Something should.” She looked up at him plaintively. “The day you died? I ran out of arrows making them pay. Then it didn’t matter anymore. He’s got demons and gods, and I’ve got a bow. I just…” Her voice cracked. The Herald reached for her, and she fell into his arms. “I want them to hurt,” she hissed. “If you’re really here, I’ll frigging die to spit in their faces.”

His embrace tightened. “I’ll hold them down for you.”

They made their way out of the dungeons, fighting through Venatori. The spymaster was alive, as Fiona claimed, though she may have wished she wasn’t. Still scarily capable. The Herald hovered over her, until she shook him off.

“You have weapons?”

The Herald nodded. “You’ll help us with Alexius?”

“Of course,” she said grimly.

“Are you… not curious how we got here?” Dorian asked. She was the only one to not get caught on the shock of seeing them alive.

“No.”

“Alexius sent us into the future,” he felt compelled to explain. “This, his victory, his Elder One—it was never meant to be. We must reverse his spell. If we can get back to our present time, we can prevent this future from ever—”

“Enough!” Leliana stalked toward him, only to be intercepted by the Herald. His hands went to her shoulders, but she pushed around him to pin Dorian with her haunted glare. “This is all pretend to you,” she rasped, “some future you hope will never exist. I suffered. The whole world suffered. It was real.”

A dark silence followed. Blackwall bowed his head, helm shadowing his eyes; Sera shuffled her feet and spat on the Venatori’s corpse. The Herald squeezed Leliana’s shoulders.

“I will make Alexius pay for everything that was done,” the Herald murmured, cold and unflinching. Dorian startled as the Herald turned a glare at him askance; subtle, a warning.

Then he turned and headed from the room. “Let’s go.” His companions fell in line dutifully, Dorian at the rear.


	2. what’s to come is fire and the end of time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from the in-game song "I Am the One"

There was, unfortunately, more to discover. At the docks, they stumbled upon a blood ritual in progress. The man begged for his life as the woman raised her hands.

“No!” The Herald encased her in ice, and Blackwall bashed her with his shield, scattering chunks of her body across the ground. The man collapsed, sobbing.

Dorian was frozen, breath stuttering in his lungs. The malaise of blood magic lingered everywhere in the castle, as if seeped into the stones. He had been doing his best to ignore it, but there it was, fresh, the scent thick in his nose and mouth. Its arcane energy was slick and barbed, worming its way into his pores and under his fingernails.

The Herald knelt next to the man. “Talwyn? Talwyn, it’s me. Do you remember? A year ago, in Redcliffe. Pavus!”

Dorian jumped, pulled from the bloody clutch of memory, burned by the Herald’s gaze.

“Heal him,” the Herald demanded.

Dorian stumbled forward, knelt beside them. Talwyn had cuts down both his forearms, his collarbone, and the sides of his face. Thankfully, the blood magic had not yet taken, so he could still be healed. Dorian raised his hands, spell at the ready, and cursed when he realized they were shaking. He could feel the Herald’s eyes, like pinpricks. He had no choice but to push through and pray no one else noticed.

As his wounds healed, Talwyn babbled, “Maker, it’s really you. I can’t believe it. You _must’ve_ been sent by Andraste to appear here now. Oh, Maker bless you, bless you!”

The Herald’s expression grew pinched, but he said, “Find someplace to hide, or take one of these boats and escape. I’m going to end this. You won’t want to be around.”

“Maker watch over you.”

The archer snorted and received a disapproving look from her bearded companion. As they moved on, she said, “Proper worship, innit.”

“Don’t start, Sera,” the Herald said, voice tight.

“Just saying. Act like you piss Andraste’s tears with your face like _that_. Might even get them to believe it.”

The Herald coughed into his fist, before tossing a smirk at her over his shoulder. “I’m not that petty, Sera.”

“Could be. Let me know when we get back, yeah? Make some coin.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“We must hurry,” Leliana cut in impatiently.

“I believe this is a door to the courtyard,” Dorian said. “We can cut through.”

The Herald barreled through, staff at the ready for whatever awaited them on the other side, then froze. “Shit,” he breathed, looking horrified at the sky. “The Breach, it’s…”

“Everywhere,” Dorian finished, eyes wide.

The Breach’s sickly green glow covered the sky, shadows moving through thick clouds of haze. Chunks of the ramparts had detached and floated threateningly in the air. Behind him, Sera muttered unhappily under her breath, Blackwall attempting to comfort her.

The Herald tore his gaze away. “Let’s move. Don’t want to get caught by sentries.”

As they rushed across the courtyard, batting away wisps and shades, Dorian asked, “How much damage did Alexius’s spell _do_?” His stomach churned. None of this should have been possible, but Alexius had well and truly destroyed the world.

Leliana scoffed, putting an arrow through the eye socket of a corpse. “Rifts tore apart all of southern Thedas, starting here. But whether that’s his doing or the Breach, who can say?”

Blackwall rammed through a door to allow them back into the castle. As they made their way up twisting staircases and down dark hallways, Dorian drew closer to Leliana. “And…” He hesitated, voice lowering. “What became of Felix? Do you know?”

Leliana did not meet his eye. “Yes. I know.”

“And you’re not going to tell me?” Dorian snapped. Fear and concern clutched at his heart. All of this had been for Felix; had he not even survived?

Leliana did not answer him, and dread weighed heavy on his bones.

*

After felling the Venatori stationed in the main hall, they approached the door to Alexius’s chamber. It was not the same door the Herald and his companions had walked through a year ago.

“Maker’s breath!” Dorian took in the giant slab of stone emanating a powerful protective aura. “Where did Alexius find this? How did he even move it here?”

“The lengths desperate and paranoid men go to,” Blackwall grumbled.

The Herald was quiet, running his hands over the delicate engravings. “This is elven,” he said. “Ancient magic.”

“Any chance you know how to open it?” Dorian asked.

He took from his pocket a small, red lyrium shard—“You _kept_ that?” Sera squawked—and pressed it into one of the grooves decorating the center of the door. It slid in with a neat _schick_. The door’s magic thrummed, and some of the protections weakened.

“He’s adapted the technology,” the Herald remarked flatly.

“You took that from a Venatori?” Dorian mused, the gears in his head turning. “Then I recommend finding more of Alexius’s servants. This must be how they get in.”

“And it’s how _we’ll_ get in,” Blackwall said.

They took one of the doorways leading off the main hall. They found a congregation of Venatori in a ravaged library and in possession of a red lyrium shard. So began the hunt.

Dorian couldn’t tell if it was the castle itself or an effect of the Breach, but the halls felt endless. The rugs were ragged, loose stones spilled across the floor; cobwebs hung from the rafters, rats and spiders skittering through the shadows. The eerie green haze of the sky could be seen through broken windows, and the red lyrium protrusions cast a sickly red pall over their party.

Leliana led the way, but the halls did not seem to be the same as Dorian had seen in the diagrams or that he had walked through himself. And yet, a persistent feeling of déjà vu nagged at him.

The Venatori were scattered but plentiful. They encountered them in a dining hall, in bedrooms, a chapel. Their ranks began to feel endless as well.

After an unpleasant ambush coming down a staircase, the Herald began to lag behind. Dorian slowed. “Are you all right? Do you need healing?” _I’ll protect you_, Dorian had said. He meant it.

The Herald shook his head, ashen under the splatters of blood. “I just… need a moment.” He staggered to a stop, leaning against a pile of rubble.

“What’s this? You all right?” Sera demanded, hoisting her bow as if the problem was something she could shoot.

The Herald shook his head, eyes squeezed shut. “I need a moment.”

“Is the lyrium getting to you?” Blackwall asked.

Another head shake.

“I think he needs some space,” Dorian said.

“Let him rest,” Leliana rasped. “He will need all of his strength. We will keep watch.” Her sunken eyes were sharp; she seemed to understand something Dorian did not.

The three of them moved away, weapons at the ready. Dorian helped the Herald slump onto a still intact piece of furniture. “Are you sure you don’t need healing?” Dorian asked again, voice quiet.

The Herald covered his face with a gauntleted hand. “I need a break. It’s affecting me more than I thought.”

“The red lyrium? It is rather unpleasant, like bugs crawling under your skin.”

“Not that. Them. Seeing them.” His hand dropped, face tight with pain and exhaustion. “Turning to tell Sera a joke, helping Blackwall up after a fall, and finding their eyes like that. They’re half in their graves. And Leliana… they were torturing her—I heard my name—they were torturing her because of me. All of them, because I wasn’t here, I left—”

“You didn’t leave,” Dorian cut in. “Alexius attacked you. What happened to them was because of Alexius and the Elder One, not you. And it isn’t real, none of this will happen—”

“It is real.” Eyes bright with panic, his hand grabbed the front of Dorian’s robes. “You can’t say it isn’t. It’s happening right now, to us. To them. It’s really happening, Dorian.”

Guilt lanced Dorian through the chest. “Well… we’re going to stop it happening to them, at least.”

The Herald laughed, like gravel. “Right. It’s all just going to be a bad fucking dream.” He stood, taking up his staff. “I know he was your mentor, Dorian, but I’m going to cave that magister’s fucking skull in.”

*

They had little luck finding further key shards. They slaughtered three rooms of Venatori and only uncovered one more. The Herald was frustrated, evidenced by his increasingly vicious brutality against the Venatori. Not even Sera’s quips or a comforting hand from Blackwall calmed him.

He stalked across the cracked floors like a predator, breathing heavy. His fingers flexed in his gauntlets like claws. Dorian caught Sera whisper something to the warrior and receive a commiserating grunt as they watched the Herald’s back.

Their mission was taking too long. Fighting through waves of enemies was wearing them down—Leliana, Blackwall, and Sera had not been in good shape to begin with. Even if they gathered all the shards, Dorian doubted their ability to overpower Alexius.

Ahead of them, a lone figure appeared around the corner. They immediately went on guard, but Leliana held her hand up to forestall them.

“Wait,” she said. “I do not think he means us harm.”

“You know them?” the Herald demanded.

Dorian did not hear her response, his attention arrested by the figure. Their gait was lopsided, shuffling. But there was something, a nagging sense of familiarity in consort with a growing sense of dread.

As they staggered closer, the jolt of recognition brought fresh horror. Dorian’s staff slipped from his numbed fingers, clattering on the stones, causing Sera to jump and swear.

“Felix.” The name was a whisper, a ghost of sound to mirror the ghost before him. “It can’t be.” Dorian stumbled forward, hands falling to his friend’s shoulders. At the touch, Felix sank to his knees, and Dorian followed him to the ground, unable to pry his eyes away. “Oh, Maker, Felix.” He put a trembling hand to Felix’s cheek.

Felix’s flesh was withered, cold, skin pulled taught over bone. His eyes were milky and vacant; drool leaked from his slackened mouth. But he nudged at Dorian’s palm, a garbled sound struggling out of his throat.

“Felix.” Tears stung Dorian’s eyes, spilling hot down his cheeks. “Maker’s breath, what did Alexius do to you?”

“Is it real enough for you now?”

Dorian jerked, turned to see the Herald standing behind him, staring coldly down at him. “What?” he rasped.

“I want to know if the consequences of your arrogance have finally sunk in.”

Guilt sparked, fury igniting through his body. He spun to his feet. “Excuse me?” he demanded.

The Herald stepped forward, and Dorian felt the man’s impressive power engulf him. “You _helped_ develop this magic. You _told_ me that.”

“Do you think I’ve forgotten?” Dorian snapped. “Do you think I feel no responsibility? I never thought—none of this should be possible, it never was before!” Possibly, it was the Breach, the raw access to the Fade that gave Alexius his newfound power, or some secret of his Elder One.

“Is that supposed to be an excuse?” the Herald sneered.

“You don’t understand. Alexius—he did not used to be this person. He can’t have wanted this!”

“What he wanted was irrelevant! What you _intended_ is irrelevant. The world is fucking destroyed!” The Herald pushed himself into Dorian’s space, glaring down his nose. “If you think I lack some crucial piece of understanding, then enlighten me.”

Dorian looked hopelessly down at where his friend knelt. He could feel the accusing stares of the Herald’s companions. He shut his eyes. “The only reason Alexius even began attempting this absurdity was to save his wife and son after a darkspawn attack.”

He glared up at the Herald, whose expression had turned to stone. “And the only reason I helped him was to try to talk him out of it! Anyone with sense knew it was madness!” Dorian began to pace. “But Alexius wouldn’t hear a word against it. It consumed him. He pulled away from the Circle. Not even Felix could talk sense into him. When I left, nothing he had tried had ever worked. That was my only consolation—that it was impossible.”

Dorian stopped, deflated, running a hand over his face. Kaffas, he was tired. “I don’t know what sort of evil, conceited scheme you concocted for my being here, what agenda you think I would suffer _this_ for—” he gestured sharply to their dilapidated surroundings “—but the _only_ reason I came all this way, suffered your snow and hills and mud and—and dogs, is because I owe Alexius more than I’ll admit to you, and I wanted to stop him from doing something irreparably _stupid_—and I was too late, so I’m sorry! If that’s what you want to hear! Sorry I wasn’t smart enough, or quick enough, or—or—or _good_ enough to avert the end of the fucking world!”

Dorian’s voice grew hoarse, and he was barely even looking at his audience as the words spilled from him. “I’m sure one Vint is the same as the next to you, but I did not leave my homeland, give up everything to help my only friend and do the right bloody thing, so that some elf who got himself exploded could judge me, so if you don’t mind, I’m _still _giving everything I have to help you escape this Maker-forsaken future on the slim chance it will make right this whole colossal mess, so—”

The Herald stepped forward, and Dorian was so startled he staggered backwards with a yelp. The Herald regarded him with that odd, blank look. At Dorian’s stumble, he tilted his head; one of his eyebrows twitched in what was probably barely restrained judgment.

To Dorian’s shock, the Herald knelt in front of Felix. “I don’t know if you remember me,” he said gently, “but if you’ve come to help us again, we could use it.”

Felix’s head wobbled on his shoulders. He did not speak, but one of his hands that was resting in his lap opened from its loose fist, revealing five red lyrium shards. Dorian sucked in a sharp breath.

“Probably shouldn’t touch those with bare skin,” the Herald murmured, scooping the shards deftly into the enchanted pouch he’d been using to hold the others. “Any chance you can get us to your father without running into any more Venatori?”

Felix grabbed clumsily for Dorian’s hand, and Dorian hastily helped his friend to his feet. Without further prompting, Felix staggered away.

The Herald signaled for his companions to take their positions as he took point. Dorian fell into step just behind him, feeling bewildered and raw and rather like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him. At least the Herald and his companions said nothing of his outburst, though the tension of animosity that had been growing seemed to have dissipated.

Felix led them first to what might have been an infirmary if not for the ominous amount of blood and cruel instruments decorating the walls, but what was nevertheless supplied with medical equipment and healing potions. After they had availed themselves, they followed Felix through a short series of back hallways to the main hall—all free of Venatori, as the Herald had requested.

The Herald placed the red lyrium shards in the door. Its aura pulsed, shivered, and the protections broke away. The massive stone slid soundlessly open.

The throne room was not the same as they had walked into a year ago. Corpses clumped in the corners, cobwebs hung like banners. The tapestries were rent, and great protrusions of red lyrium grew behind the weathered throne on which Alexius sat.

“You’ve finally come,” he rasped. “I knew you would appear again. Not that it would be now, but I knew I hadn’t destroyed you.” His head bowed. “My final failure.”

The Herald stalked forward, drawing his staff. “It will be.”

Alexius’s vacant gray eyes shifted to the side. “And with my son at your side. Again. How fitting.”

“Alexius.” Dorian stepped forward. “Gereon. _Please_. I know this isn’t what you wanted. But we can undo it. Let me help you.”

“How many times have I tried?” He shook his head. “The past cannot be undone. All that I fought for, all that I betrayed, and what have I wrought? Ruin and death. There is nothing else. All we can do is wait for the end. The Elder One comes.”

The Herald watched Alexius with a shrewd expression. Dorian caught a flick of his right hand, a subtle gesture. In the next moment, Leliana appeared behind Felix, knife to his throat.

Alexius’s eyes widened, and he leapt to his feet. “Felix!” Dorian’s heart clenched at the naked fear on his face.

“I want to be sure I have your attention,” the Herald said calmly.

“Please, don’t hurt my son! I’ll do anything you ask!”

A tight smirk pulled at the Herald’s mouth. “I knew we could reach an understanding. Now, hand over the amulet, and we’ll let him—”

Before his sentence finished, Felix reached up, wrapped a ghoulish hand around Leliana’s, and pulled the knife across his throat.

Dorian watched in shock as red spurted from his friend’s neck, his body falling limp through Leliana’s hands. He heard Alexius’s wail of anguish, the Herald shouting commands to his companions, the crackle and hiss of ozone as the Fade was called forth.

“Pavus!”

Dorian jerked, met the Herald’s burning gaze.

“Barriers! Stay focused. We can end this!”

Dorian nodded, summoning protective energy to his fingertips.

The fight was hard. Alexius had always been a formidable mage, and now had more power granted by his Elder One. But Alexius was unhinged with grief, and Dorian knew him, knew his tells, his weaknesses.

The Herald was a mage of no small power himself and led an unrelenting charge. He directed his companions with confidence, and with the signals Dorian passed to him, marking the breaks in Alexius’s defenses, their combined assault broke Dorian’s old mentor down.

Leliana’s arrow made it through Alexius’s barriers, pierced his leg. The Herald was there a second later as Alexius faltered, the blunt end of his staff connecting with Alexius’s jaw, sending him sprawling. The Herald brought down his staff, piercing the blade through Alexius’s abdomen and pinning him to the floor.

Alexius choked, blood spilling down his chin. His lips pulled into something between a grimace and a sneer. “Your victory is nothing,” he hissed. “This world is already lost.”

The Herald stared impassively down at him. He raised a hand, clenched his fist, and flames erupted over Alexius’s body.

Dorian looked away, Alexius’s final shriek of agony echoing in his ears. His eyes fell on Felix’s corpse.

All Dorian had given, how far he’d come, and it hadn’t been enough. He had not been able to save Alexius the way Alexius saved him. Alexius had given up, dragged down by the weight of his sins and self-delusion. If only Alexius had realized that he’d lost Felix long ago.

He felt someone’s approach and looked up to find the Herald with that strange, not-quite-blank look. After a moment of unquantifiable silence, the Herald held out his hand. In it was the amulet—the one Alexius had used on them in that room a year ago.

“Can you reverse the spell?” the Herald asked.

Dorian took a breath to gather himself and accepted the amulet. “I recognize this; I believe it’s the same one we made in Minrathous.” A relief, he wouldn’t have to work with a completely unfamiliar tool. “Give me perhaps an hour to work out the spell he used, and I should be able to reopen the rift.”

“_An hour_?” Leliana gasped. “That’s impossible! You must go now!”

A roar overhead, close enough to make the castle quake around them.

“Shit! Frig! Piss! It’s here!”

Blackwall put a hand on Sera’s shoulders. “There’s a reason they won,” he said grimly. The two of them shared a resigned look, before Blackwall spoke again. “We’ll go on ahead, take out as many as we can.”

For a moment, the Herald’s determined expression fractured, revealing a horrible anguish. His throat clenched like he was holding back words. He pulled Sera into a tight hug and gave Blackwall’s arm a hearty slap. When he stepped back, his face was once again composed. “We will make this count,” he declared.

As Sera and Blackwall made their way out of the hall, Leliana said, “The only way we live is if this day never comes.” Her eyes bored into Dorian’s. “Cast your spell. You have as much time as I have arrows.”

Dorian took the Herald by his elbow up to the dais. Being as close to where Alexius originally cast the spell would make it easier to reappear in the same place. Hopefully. Dorian didn’t relish the idea of having to fight their way up from the dungeons again.

Dorian put all his attention on the amulet, doing his best to ignore the sounds of battle, as well as the tense figure beside him. The Herald held his staff in a death grip, and Dorian could feel ripples of barely checked magical power coming off him. Dorian had doubts about the man’s ability to hold himself back. If that happened—

_No! Focus!_ Dorian shook himself. If he couldn’t figure out the spell, it would be all for naught, anyway.

Most magical augments kept an imprint of the spells used with them. Alexius had had a year of desperate experiments with it. Dorian would need to pinpoint the one used on them from a year ago and reverse engineer it.

There was a bang, and the Herald’s entire body went rigid, but Dorian did not look up. Sweat slicked his brow as he moved as quickly through the spells as he dared. He had to do this _right_. His hands shook, and he could feel a headache building, but he did not stop. He had come this far, he had _promised_—

He had it! Thankfully, it seemed in being provoked all that time ago, Alexius hadn’t used an overly complex incantation. It took mere seconds to break it down to its bare parts, then reassemble it in order to reverse the direction of the spell. He poured all the mana he could into it and was rewarded with the hazy ripping of air, and the rift opened around his feet, the green tendrils of Fade billowing.

He reached for the Herald’s arm; it was like grasping stone. From the corner of his eye, Dorian saw Leliana—outnumbered, overwhelmed, disarmed. It was painful to look upon the Herald’s face, the open grief and rage etched into his features; his nose was broken, smudges of ash blurred the lines of his tattoos, an old scar on his jaw had been cut open, bleeding down the length of his neck.

“Herald, I’ve got it. We must go!”

The Herald was unmoved and immovable. His eyes focused on Leliana, bright and burning, lips held in a firm, grim line.

Dorian did not watch, but heard Leliana’s pained grunt, her final gasp of air. Only then the Herald turned away, stepped into the rift—the howl of a terror demon followed them as the magic twisted and the Fade folded around them. There was a rushing, like a waterfall, the floor fell away, and they were thrust back to the present.

*

Their return was greeted by the warm blush of the fire. Dorian noticed second the end of the incessant red lyrium whispers. Scents of wood, clean stone, and wet dog replaced the malodorous stench of demonic grime and death. The tapestries hung whole and clean. The Herald’s companions, hale and clear-eyed, were poised right where they’d been left, halfway to reaching for their weapons, Fiona next to them with a hand over her mouth. And Alexius, gaping at them in shock and dismay, as he fell to his knees.

Maker, they’d actually done it! Filled with giddy relief, Dorian let out a breathless laugh, tossing the amulet and catching it. “Is that all you’ve got?” he said, unable to hold back his wide grin.

The Herald propped a hand on his hip, looking down from his considerable height. “Tell me, Alexius, on whose mercy you’d like to throw yourself: mine, or your Elder One’s?”

Alexius bowed his head. “You won. There is no point extending this charade.”

Felix stepped forward to speak with his father, as the Herald gestured for agents to take Alexius into custody. Dorian’s smile faltered, watching his former mentor placed in chains. He hadn’t been able to save Alexius, but he had stopped him. That would have to be enough.

As he turned to the Herald, the door to the hall slammed open and a regiment of Fereldan troops marched in. _Guess it’s not quite over with_, Dorian mused wryly.

In walked a man and woman, side-by-side. He was a handsome fellow, perhaps Dorian’s age, with light brown skin and a rakish scar down one cheek. He wore a furred cloak and, underneath, a surcoat in the style of the Grey Wardens with a subtle griffon insignia. His companion was a sharp-faced, blonde woman who carried herself with the regal bearing of born-and-bred nobility.

The Herald and Fiona stepped up next to Dorian, Fiona offering a hasty bow. “King Alistair, Queen Anora.”

“Grand Enchanter,” the king said. His warm brown eyes fell on the Herald. “And you are the one they call the Herald of Andraste.”

The Herald snorted and dipped his head in a gesture that conveyed no deference. “Your Majesty. Good of you to join us… _after_ I resolved everything.”

The queen pursed her lips, but Alistair gave them a crooked, dimpled smile. “Apologies for not being able to mobilize my troops as quickly as you. Maybe tell Leliana to get faster birds.” Expression sobering, he gestured to Alexius being led from the room by Inquisition agents. “This is the magister in question?”

“You’ll want him in your custody, I presume,” the Herald said blandly.

The king and queen exchanged looks, before Anora spoke, voice crisp and clear. “It will take some discussion with the leadership of the Inquisition, but out of consideration for your efforts here, we are willing to let you take him for now.”

“We are grateful for your intervention in this matter,” Alistair added.

“Your gratitude is noted,” the Herald said. “Was there anything else you needed, or are we done here?”

Alistair raised an eyebrow, and Anora turned her chilly gaze onto Fiona. “There is the small matter of Arl Teagan being ousted from his castle.” Fiona’s throat bobbed, expression strained, and Anora carried on. “When we offered the mages sanctuary, we did not give them the right to drive our people from their homes.”

“Your Majesties,” Fiona said, “I beg you understand. We were desperate. It was never our intention—”

Anora cut her off. “In light of recent events, I’m sure you can agree, Grand Enchanter, that good intentions are no longer enough.”

Alistair straightened, folding his hands behind his back. “We wanted to help you. But after this mess with the Tevinters, Ferelden can no longer afford to shelter you. I must order you to leave Ferelden at once.”

“But we have hundreds who need protection,” Fiona protested, a heated determination in her voice. “Where will we go?”

The Herald coughed. “Might I remind everyone there’s still a hole in the sky? I didn’t come all this way, fight through a horde of Vints and fucking time magic, to walk away empty-handed. The mages will be leaving with the Inquisition.”

Fiona rounded on him. “Is that so?” she demanded, her eyes narrowed. “Under what terms?”

“Better than what Alexius gave you,” Dorian cut in. “The Inquisition is better than that, yes?”

The Herald shot him an unimpressed glare before addressing Fiona. “It was always my intention to bring the mages in as allies. The Inquisition needs magical power the mages possess; the mages need protection the Inquisition can provide. It works out.”

“That is very generous,” Fiona said slowly. “Will the rest of the Inquisition honor this offer?”

The Herald scoffed. “If they don’t like my decisions, they shouldn’t have sent me to make them. The Breach is a threat to all Thedas. We don’t have time to entertain petty bigotries. We need mages for this fight; any chance of success will require your full support.”

“If the Inquisition is willing to take responsibility for the mages,” Anora said, “we will consider that satisfactory.”

“We accept,” Fiona said, bowing her head. “It would be madness not to.” A hopeful smile blossomed on her face. “I will gather my people for the journey to Haven. The Breach will be closed. You will not regret giving us this chance.”

*

With the departure of the king and queen, it was decided the Herald would return first with his companions and a handful of agents. The rest of them would follow as an escort for the rebel mages.

As the Herald distributed instructions, Felix approached Dorian, and Dorian couldn’t help but pull his friend into a tight hug. Felix chuckled, accepting Dorian’s uncharacteristic display of affection with good grace. “I take it you were gone a bit longer than it seemed from this side. Did Father’s spell actually work?”

Dorian sighed, pulling back. “You don’t want to know,” he muttered.

Felix shook his head, smile sympathetic. “I’ll be returning to Tevinter,” he said. “I need to get Father’s affairs in order. And someone should inform the Magisterium of what happened here.” He gave the Herald an approving look, before turning back to Dorian. “You’ll be staying, I presume?”

Dorian opened his mouth to respond, just as the Herald swept past and barked, “Pavus! You’re with us.”

Felix stifled a laugh. “Guess that answers that.”

Dorian chose to ignore the mischievous twinkle in his friend’s eye. “I have to see this through.”

Felix nodded. “You won’t have a lot of support, but you’re doing the right thing. Keep in touch, all right?”

As Felix turned, Dorian caught his arm. “Felix? I’m sorry.”

Surprise flashed on Felix’s face, before his expression softened, and in that moment, he looked unbearably frail. “You did everything you could, Dorian.” He smiled sadly and clasped Dorian’s hand between his own. “Take care of yourself, amicus.”

Dorian nodded, throat tight, then hurried after the Herald and his party.

He caught up just as Sera asked, “Where’d you _go_? Look like a dragon chewed you up and shat you out.” She cackled.

“Would you believe,” the Herald drawled, “that’s the one thing that _didn’t_ happen to me?”

“Gave us a scare,” Blackwall remarked. “You mentioned time magic?”

“I’ll tell you about it later, when I’m sufficiently inebriated.”

He caught Dorian’s eye over his shoulder, and his smile faded into that strange, blank look that was fast becoming his default expression towards Dorian. At that moment, Dorian was unfortunately reminded of his… rant. He supposed he should be grateful that only the Herald was left to remember it.

The Herald was still looking at him.

“Is there something on my face?” Dorian asked.

“You still have the amulet?” the Herald replied.

Dorian nodded, taking it from his pocket. The Herald held out his hand, and Dorian passed it over. The Herald held it up, looking it over, then put it in one of his pouches.

“I got the other one from Alexius. When we return to Haven, I want to make sure they’re destroyed.”

“Wise,” Dorian said.

“You do have blood,” Sera said. “On your face.” She pointed to a spot next to her nose. “Right here.”

“Thank you,” Dorian sighed.

“And something… eurgh. All here.” She waved her hand over the left side of her face.

“Probably demon entrails,” Blackwall put in. “They smear.”

“Splendid,” Dorian grumbled. He reached for a handkerchief as they finally exited the castle, where a group of Inquisition agents awaited them with mounts.

*

The Qunari was waiting for them on the bridge outside Haven, along with a gaggle of rag-tag mercenaries. He raised a hand in greeting. “Boss. Welcome back.”

“There weren’t any dragons,” the Herald said promptly.

“Good,” the Qunari grunted, falling into step with their horses. “No fighting dragons without me.” His single eye fell on Dorian, narrowed, then moved on. “Sera. Blackwall. All in one piece?”

“I didn’t get to shoot _anything_!” Sera complained. “Stupid Messere Explode-y Hand here got sent to the _future_. Without us!”

“Hnh. That’s what you get for messing with Vints.”

The Herald snorted. “Unfortunately, I doubt we’ve seen the last of them.”

“That why you brought one back with you?” The Qunari nodded in Dorian’s direction.

“No, that one’s special.”

Up to that point, having been content to exist on the peripheral of the conversation, Dorian rather felt like he’d been knocked off his horse. Before he could even decide what to think, the Herald continued, “Haven’t decided what I’ll do with him yet, but you’re not allowed to kill him.”

“If you say so, Boss.”

As they approached Haven proper, a great mob of people gathered to greet them. The Herald grumbled as he dismounted. As an Inquisition agent stepped forward, he held a hand up. “No one speak to me until I’ve bathed, drank, and slept,” he announced. With that, he threw his reins at the agent and stalked off. The Qunari went with him, which seemed to grant him a wide berth from the gathered worshippers.

Dorian had left his meager belongings here when he’d last come, and after questioning the right agents, they were restored to him. A few more, slightly pointed questions secured him a spare cot in a hutch next to the apothecary.

Not the most glamorous of lodgings, but he would make do. He wasn’t here to sight-see, after all. _You’re doing the right thing_. He sighed, slumping onto the bed, wincing at the straw pricking through the thin mattress. Perhaps all he had left was this cause, half a world away from everything he knew.

He put an arm over his eyes and did not think about Felix, or Alexius, or the glittering shores of Minrathous. He did not think of the library at the Vyrantium Circle, the musicians that played in the plaza, the wide stone streets warmed under the sun. He did not think of Rilienus. He did not think of his father. He slept.

*

The bulk of the mage rebellion arrived the following day. Dorian was discussing potion recipes with the apothecary when the Herald’s raised voice carried over the general din of the village. Dorian stepped out to investigate and caught sight of the Herald storming towards the Chantry, Cullen and Cassandra in his thunderous wake. Leliana joined them as they passed her tent.

Dorian had not seen the Herald since he’d sequestered himself yesterday. It could be a good time to ascertain his official position there. He followed at a discreet distance and entered the Chantry through a side door.

“—thinking, turning mages loose with no oversight? The veil is _torn open_!”

Dorian rolled his eyes. Apparently, Fiona was right to doubt others in the Inquisition following through on the Herald’s welcome.

“We’re not fucking monsters, Cullen,” the Herald growled. “I’ve been a mage for over _three_ _decades_. Between Fiona, myself, and the other senior enchanters, we have things under control.”

“That is not the issue—”

“Enough arguing!” Cassandra barked. “None of us were there. We cannot afford to second-guess our people. The sole purpose of the Herald’s mission was to gain the mages’ aid, and that was accomplished.”

Dorian smirked, leaning against a pillar. “The voice of pragmatism speaks! And here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments.”

Cassandra glared at him over her shoulder. “Closing the Breach is all that matters.”

“And it will be,” the Herald said grimly.

“We should look into the things you saw in this ‘dark future’,” Leliana said, frowning. “The assassination of Empress Celene? A demon army?”

“Sounds like something a Tevinter cult might do,” Dorian mused lightly to cover his frustration. “Orlais falls, the Imperium rises. Chaos for everyone.” Because why bother focusing on the problems at home when you could make problems in other countries. Of course, that would require his countrymen to acknowledge that Tevinter _had_ problems.

The Herald snorted, folding his arms. “At least the Vints stay consistent.”

“More like terribly passé. Hundreds of years, and we can’t even think of new ways to terrorize you southern heathens?”

The Herald looked aside, the corner of his mouth quirking, as if stifling a smile. So, the man did have a sense of humor outside life-threatening scenarios.

“It will take some time to organize the troops and the mages,” Leliana was saying. “We ought to take this to the war room.”

“I’ll skip the war council,” Dorian said. “But I would like to see this Breach up close, if you don’t mind.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re… staying?”

“Oh, didn’t I mention? The south is so charming and rustic, I adore it to little pieces.”

The Herald was looking at him again with that odd, blank expression. But not quite blank, no, there was something—considering! That’s what it was. Like he was evaluating Dorian, accounting for new information and trying to formulate a decision.

Dorian straightened, did not look away from that sharp, assessing gaze. “We both saw what could happen, what this ‘Elder One’ and his cult intend for the world.” He took a breath. “Not everything from Tevinter is terrible. There are those of us who have fought for eons against this sort of madness. It is my duty to stand with you. That future will _not_ come to pass.”

The Herald tilted his head, one of his eyebrows quirked. Then he looked away, seemingly bored. “Why not?” he drawled.

As Dorian felt the knot of tension in his chest give way to relief, Cassandra made a disapproving sound.

The Herald shot a glare at her. “Dorian provided invaluable help at Redcliffe. I’m inclined to trust him. Have him watched, though, if it bothers you so much.”

“Watch away,” Dorian said coolly, relaxing against the pillar. “I have nothing to hide and evidently plenty to prove.”

The Herald looked back him and—there. The subtle curve of his mouth, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Amusement.

“We’ll see about getting you a look at the Breach.” He turned to the ambassador. “Josephine, if you can make sure Dorian has what he needs?”

“Of course,” she said brightly.

“Let’s save the war room for tomorrow morning. I want to talk to Fiona, make sure the mages are settled.” He glared at Cullen, pointing a finger, still armored, at him. “And make sure your Templars keep their distance. I mean that.”

Cullen protested, “I still think—”

“I didn’t ask what you think, I told you what I expect. Now, unless there was anything else?” He looked to Leliana, who shook her head with a small smirk. “In that case, I have work to do.” With that, he turned on his heel and swept out of the Chantry.

As the rest of the advisors dispersed, Josephine invited Dorian to her office, peppering him with inquiries. Dorian did his best to answer, but his mind was stuck on the Herald. Joining the Inquisition was the right thing, but perhaps it wouldn’t be completely thankless.

**Author's Note:**

> anyway, IHW is one of the least well-written quests, so i wanted to do my own take on it. i wasn't able to fix everything the way i wanted to, but i think i filled in most of the plot holes.
> 
> it's always bothered me that your character doesn't seem to have enough of a reaction to seeing their companions (and potential love interest) die, and regardless of what dialogue choices you make, they and dorian seem a little... blase about the whole affair. so, fixed that.
> 
> not to mention, it infuriates me that you literally never find out in the game that alexius only started researching time magic to save felix and his wife, and dorian only helped him to talk him out of it. maybe it just went over my head, but this omission always read to me as "see what happens when you let mages do what they want? this is why we need circles uwu". like alexius was wrong, but he wasn't researching time magic for funsies. so, fixed /that/.
> 
> un-whitewashed alistair. actually made fiona look like the lyrium is growing out of her instead of just. encasing her; also, for those who read The Calling, hopefully made her more in-character. gave felix some agency and made him more pivotal to the quest. considering his sickness was the catalyst for all this, it never made sense that he didn't have a larger part.
> 
> details taken from World of Thedas volume 2 with blank spots filled in with my own speculation.
> 
> kudos and comments appreciated! let me know what you think!


End file.
